Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit
by Gold-Snitcher
Summary: SSHP Voldemort's dead but Death Eaters are still at large. Harry is captured and tortured with a strange spell that leaves him facing a painful recovery. Will his friends be able to guide him out of the darkness that has become his addiction?
1. Time By the Drop

1**Title**: _Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit_

**Author:** Gold-Snitcher

**Chapter One:** Time By the Drop

**Pairing: **SS/HP

**Warning:** slash. Dark themes.

**Summary:** Voldemort is dead but that doesn't mean that his followers are all gone. Harry is abducted by Death Eaters and tortured with a strange spell. When the Order finally frees him from his small prison, Harry must embark on the difficult task of healing. With Severus' constant prodding and snarking to fuel his determination to get better, and despite the clear set-backs that resulted from the torture, Harry must still contend with the remaining Death Eaters who are still fixated on him, and a chaotic clash of emotions that just might send him over the edge.

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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The boy tells time by the falling water, each drop the only measurement that seems at all constant in his world.

Yet, the falling of the water, each drop, splish splash, echoing in the darkness, is not at all constant. Or at least he can't be sure. He's fairly certain that time no longer has a meaning. He can't tell whether he's spent an hour or a century in the darkness, but he knows that it has been long enough that he has given up keeping track of the drops.

When he is worried, or panic sinks its teeth into him, he counts again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

And consistency is restored.

He cannot see the drops as they fall. He's not even certain if it is water.

Sometimes, when he is very frightened, it is not water at all that falls, but blood.

He doesn't like to think about it. He'd much rather tell time by falling water than by blood.

He's not certain if the men will come again. They've come twelve times already, or maybe fifteen, he can't be sure, their visits leave him disoriented, and he isn't certain, but he wonders if the men also visit him when he's sleeping.

He was frightened every time they came, not certain of anything except that the masks were familiar and that they were evil. He didn't know what they would do to him. If he believed in the gods he'd been praying to since the men first came, he would thank them now for the fact that the men had not raped him.

The first time they had cast the spell the pain had been beyond that of the cruciatus. He hadn't thought that that was possible. The Cruciatus was supposed to be the epitome of a pain spell and yet, of this one thing, he is certain. As certain as he is that the water (or blood?) will fall again and make that soggy splashing sound that echoed off the walls.

Every cell in his body had instinctually revolted against the incoming spell; the agony had spread through his body. It started small and built. Pain reached every part of him. Every part. Rippling through his cells until there was nowhere to retreat to. Every piece of him was being burned, consumed, ripped apart.

He'd never heard of this spell before. It sounded German. He hadn't known there were German spells but now that he thought about it, it made sense.

When the man had spoken the words, Harry had wanted to laugh. It sounded so ungraceful, so crude. He wondered what the words meant but his thoughts were interrupted by the pain. He was surprised when the men left not long after. He wondered why they did not stay to savour his writhing form, contorted in pain.

And then the ecstasy had set in.

It was unbelievable and he'd never felt anything like it. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the darkness. Not the fact that he was stripped to his boxers. Not the fact that he was alone and cold and scared. Not the fact that the Death Eaters could do anything they wanted to him. Nothing mattered. He was unbelievably _alive_ and _aroused_ and all of the rest receded. It was more peaceful and perfect than the imperius.

The only time the door was opened was when they came to him. Food was slipped in through a space under the door that opened from the other side. He'd kicked and bitten and clawed and hissed but against five well-built Death Eaters, wandless and starving, he didn't stand a chance. There was no way out.

When they cast the spell the second time, he wondered if it would have the same after-shocks.

He hoped that it would.

He had smiled when he realised that the after-shocks, as he called them, were a part of the spell.

The men came at different intervals to cast it on him. He fought hard every time but so far he had had no success.

He had succumbed and drank down the cold broth and nibbled at the crusty bread that had been left for him.

He was starving.

He was cold.

He wondered about the war and what was happening. He wondered if Dumbledore and the Order knew that he was missing, they must, surely. They would have been expecting him at Hogwarts. He should have been there by now, most definitely. Had it been hours? Days?

Years? He wasn't sure.

He started counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

He hoped it wasn't blood.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Boots again. They were coming for him.

He hoped they would cast the spell. He liked the spell. The pain was worth it for those moments when nothing mattered.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

"Knock knock, Potter. Ready for another go?"

The sound of unlocking spells. And then a key turning in the old and heavy door.

The light was blinding.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

He wondered if Severus was worried about him.

…………………………….

Harry Potter sat alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the seat and looked out the window. Hermione and

Ron had left, both bound for the prefects meeting in the front car. Harry wasn't going, Harry wasn't a prefect. Dumbledore had asked him, sent him a message saying that he had been chosen as Head Boy, but all Harry wanted was to disappear. He'd done his job, after all, Voldemort was dead and what he wanted now was quiet and peace and a sense of normalcy.

Of course, he could have none of that and nobody knew it better than Harry himself. He had even begun to accept the fact that he would always attract attention, but still, receiving the Head Boy position seemed fake, like he only got it because of his name, because of his fulfilment of the prophecy, because of his scar that had faded, a pale, white jagged line on his forehead.

So Harry had respectfully declined.

He watched the scenery fly passed him, raising a hand and idly tracing his reflection in the glass. He dismissed the sound of the compartment door opening; after all, it was likely some younger student looking for a free compartment. When the door quickly closed again, he almost believed that this were true, but felt the chill in his body, that strange reaction that he could never explain whenever something dark was nearby. Ron had often joked about it, saying he was allergic to dark magic.

Harry's hand flew to his robe pocket for his wand but the man casually threw a disarming spell at him, followed quickly by a binding charm that locked his magic from him, eliminating the possibility if his wandless magic, and he was left, alone and defenceless.

"What do you want?" he asked calmly, his mind already working on a way to get out and get away.

The man was tall, a head or two above Harry. His shoulders were broad and his cloak expensive. Harry knew that the moustache he sported was fake and cursed it for effectively hiding a good deal of the man's face. "Mr. Potter," the man greeted cordially, bowing his head slightly.

Harry wondered why no one had noticed the man on the train. After all, adults didn't ride with them. But then again, the students probably thought this could be their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, they were due for yet another replacement. "It's a great honour to meet you," the man said, and sounded almost sincere about it.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, though it seemed unlikely he would get an answer, at least not an honest one.

"Who I am is hardly important," the man dismissed, almost conversationally, and Harry sat up straighter in his seat as the man drew out his wand. "I think the important thing is that, at this moment, we are alone."

The man turned and, with a deft flick of his wand, cast a rather strong locking and silencing charm on the compartment. Turning back to Harry, he adjusted his robes and settled comfortably on the seat opposite where Harry was situated, lowering his wand and carefully placing it beside him. "I have a proposition for you, Mr. Potter."

"What?" Harry asked hesitantly. He was trying to buy time; desperate to come up with some way of escape. Or maybe the meeting would end and Ron and Hermione would return to the cabin, and realise that something was happening. All he needed was time. Time was life.

"The way I see it, you have two options. One, I can cast Avada Kedavra on you," he was toying with his wand as if to hint of the possibility of this. Harry watched this and tried to appear unconcerned, but in reality, he was starting to panic. Why was no one coming? "Or, you can drink this lovely little potion," he gripped his wand in one hand, and removed a small bottle from his pocket with the other, extending his arm a bit to show it to Harry.

"So what's the proposition?" Harry asked, not completely surprised when his voice sounded confident. It was habit, now, hiding his emotions as much as he hid his thoughts. Severus' strict teaching of both occlumency and legilimency had ingrained both these things into him.

"Drink the potion."

"That's not a proposition," Harry retorted.

"Yes it is. Now, since I haven't already cast Avada Kedavra on you, you can probably guess

which option I would prefer." Harry looked at the potion warily. Harry had enough negative interactions with various potions that he almost felt inclined to choose Avada Kedavra, after all, he'd deflected that once, hadn't he? But potions … there was no way around them.

"What's in the potion?" Harry asked, reluctantly. There seemed nothing else he could do. The silencing spell on the compartment meant he could scream until he lost his voice, and no one would come.

"It's mildly soporific. You'll have a nice little nap for a bit. Not too traumatising?" the man teased, but to Harry, the idea of becoming unconscious in the presence of a man like this was intolerable. "Tick, tock, Harry," the man sing-songed.

A few moments of frantic indecision as he ran-through possible reactions, possible escapes. None of them seemed plausible.

Harry swallowed thickly and reached for the potion.

……………………

Harry awoke, sprawled on a cold stone floor, and was immediately and violently ill. He blinked blearily to try to ascertain his surroundings but all he could see was darkness, and straining his eyes was making him feel worse.

He promptly passed out.

When he awoke the second time he was still on the cold floor, still blind, still feeling nauseous, but he managed not to sick up again. That he was alive, he found, was not such a reassuring thought. Finding that he was not quite well enough to move, he set his mind to reasoning.

Why was he being held captive? Why was he alive? If it was revenge, wouldn't a swift, preferably public death have been better? If that was the case, he should have been dragged out into the corridors of the Express and promptly dispatched under the horrified eyes of his peers.

Was it because of Severus? He had been exposed as a spy near the end of the war; it was a necessary step in order to protect Harry. And it was no secret after that that Severus and Harry got along quite well. They had worked together on strategies and were often seen together on the battlefield.

He lay there and wracked his brain for all possible explanations and then, upon the realisation that moving no longer produced an urge to vomit or made the world spin, and after concluding that he could not be certain as to his captor's motivation without further information, Harry pulled himself onto his knees and then, with a great amount of determination and difficulty, he managed to stumble to his feet.

In the darkness, Harry groped about in a pitiful attempt to ascertain his surroundings. He stumbled forward until his hand pressed into a cold wall, feeling little pock-marks and indentations beneath his fingers, he wondered if it were stone or concrete, and could not be quite sure. If it were concrete, it certainly had been worn rough with age. He scratched his fingers against it, trying to assure himself that this was reality, thus keeping his urge to panic at bay. This was, after all, not the first time he had been taken into the custody of dark wizards. Feeling part of the wall crumbling beneath his nervous fingers, Harry guessed that it must be stone. Which implied that he was in an older building, and raised the likelihood that he was also in a wizarding neighbourhood, since wizards tended to group together.

He walked along the perimeter of his cell, one hand pressed to the wall, both for balance and guidance. Not four steps later, his foot came into contact with something, and there was the distinct sound of splashing.

Harry crouched to his feet, hands groping and he found a small bowl which, upon closer inspection, contained water. Beside the bowl was a loaf of bread that Harry immediately picked up and clutched close to him as he rose and continued to explore.

A few further steps and he felt reeds beneath his feet and a tattered and musty pillow. He settled himself onto his makeshift bed, still clutching the bread loaf, and trying to get his thoughts in order. An odd sort of panic wanted to claw its way out of him. He was sitting, alone, in the dark, practically naked, locked in a small cell by Death Eaters who had taken his wand. With a frown, Harry flicked his wrist and called 'Lumos' furious with himself for not thinking of it before. Nothing happened. He rubbed at his wrist absentmindedly, as he became aware of a general ache that covered his entire body. Why couldn't he cast wandless magic, the spell used on the train was only temporary and it must have worn off already?

Again the panic threatened him and it took a moment to get himself under control. After a moment, he began to feel a bit like an idiot, sitting on a reed-bed, clutching a piece of bread like his life depended on it. He decided to continue his explorations. After rising to his feet, he attempted to put the loaf on his pillow but found parting with it was rather difficult. It offered a strange sense of security, which he sorely needed. Still, he set it down and continued his circle of his cell.

It was small and empty besides the makeshift bed, the bowl of water and his bread. Tentatively, he found his way back to the reeds and was relieved to find his supplies where he had left them. With a defeated sigh, he lay down on the crunchy reeds and closed his eyes, one hand resting on the top of the loaf. At least here he wouldn't be starved, he thought before he fell asleep.

When Harry woke for a third time he had a small panic attack. He had not been in such squalid conditions since the Dursleys, and there were no good memories attached to that place. Funnily enough, finding the loaf and his bowl of water, meagre though they were, was what affirmed that he was not with his muggle relatives. Funny how he thought being the captive of Death Eaters was somehow better than being with the Dursleys. He pondered this as he took a small rip of bread and nibbled on it.

He was used to the blindness now and, when he had finished his rip of bread, he set about collecting anything in the cell that could be used as some sort of weapon. There wasn't much, a few pebbles and chips of wood which, for a frantic moment, Harry thought might be the remains of his wand, but they were too thick and wedge-shaped, and he relaxed. He also found a few shards of porcelain glass and he tucked his meagre treasures by his bed before he settled down to think.

How long had he been there? The man had said that the soporific would last three to four hours, but Harry had fallen asleep several times after that, and there was no guarantee anyway that the man's estimations were correct. Harry always reacted differently to some potions. Severus had said once that Harry must do it intentionally, just to be contrary.

There were bruises on his wrists, he noted absently, so he must have been visited at some point while he was asleep. For a moment, Harry wondered why on earth he had not woken, since he had been trained to be a light sleeper, both by his nightmares and visions, but also because of his responsibilities in his childhood. His keepers must have cast a spell on him, he assumed, and again a prickle of anger and helplessness washed over him.

Another thought occurred to him. Was the room truly this dark or was he blind? Frantic, Harry groped to touch his eyes. Though proving that they were still in their rightful place hardly confirmed that the room was simply dark. It was the ultimate form of helplessness. Harry had never been overly strong physically. His strength lay in his magic, which was unrivalled. But it was already clear that something was stopping him from using it. He was alone, practically naked, possibly blind, without his wand, without the use of wandless magic. His panic overwhelmed him and he rose to his knees and vomited.

It took a while for him to recollect himself and he sat back, leaning against the wall, and closed his eyes and focussed on his breathing. He wasn't sure how long he sat like that before he became aware of slight vibrations in the wall on which his back was pressed.

He blinked his eyes open and pressed his hand against the cold stone. He wasn't imagining it, there were definite vibrations, and now he could hear faint voices. People were coming. Harry wondered how best to handle the situation. Perhaps he should pretend to be asleep and then, when the invisible door to his cell was opened, he could bolt up and out. But then, he still had no magic, and there were several voices, which meant several people, likely wizards. However far he ran, he had no idea of where he was, or the layout of the house.

Suddenly there was light, bright and blinding, and Harry raised his hands to cover his eyes. He heard footsteps, and then rough hands grabbed at him, and Harry hissed and kicked and struggled against the firm grip, feeling the fingers pressing into his skin, knowing there would be dark bruises.

"Don't hit him," a voice ordered, and Harry tried to squint passed the blinding brightness to see. There were four hulking shapes, two of which were bent over him as he struggled. A moment later, and he was slammed quite firmly against the stone wall, a wand pointing directly at his throat. He managed to knock it away before the man who stood by the door cast a spell on him that Harry didn't quite hear. In an instant, Harry was overwhelmed by a disinterested exhaustion.

Harry's body slumped forward against the man who held him, and he was dragged back into a sprawl on the floor. A moment of whispers which Harry couldn't make out, and then a spell, and his body exploded. Every cell woke-up with pure raw sensation, like a slow electrical wave that rose and rose until it surpassed the agony of the cruciatus. And Harry wasn't screaming because it hurt so much that his throat had constricted, and he was taking tiny hiccuping gasps of air, and the world was tilting dangerously on its axis and oh God he just wanted to die. Please, let him die.

And then a shift. Exquisite and shocking. Pain became pleasure and he was sprawled on the floor, quivering from the soles of his feet to the back of his head in what could only be ecstasy. His keepers were speaking, but he could only make-out disjointed snippets of speech. "Healer …infection … fever … dosage … weak." Someone was ill in this clean bright room. Someone began to groan. Harry's keepers left, closing the door and taking the bright light with them.

Harry lay on the ground, still coming down from his high, spent and shivering, and back in the darkness. He managed to twist onto his side and was ill again. He wanted to move back to his bed but did not have the strength, so he flopped onto his back once more, and closed his eyes. "I have made my bed in darkness," he mumbled. And then began to laugh dangerously.

After a while, he put his head down and wept.

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TBC

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. For clarification, the first portion was present time, and the rest of this chapter was a flashback to how Harry got there. Please review, I really appreciate them.

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** For anyone who is interested in other works of mine, I have begun posting at I post under the same name (minus the hyphen though) and currently have two works-in-progress posted there (this piece is one of them). I have begun posting there because there are fewer restrictions imposed on the writers and it's a much saner environment. But, rest-assured, I will continue to update here as well and will not be stopping any of the fics posted here. I must tell you, though, that I've started back at uni so you might not see an update until next week. But I definitey will update one fo the other works here within the next two weeks (I'm really trying to make the next post be for Absolute Pitch but my bloody floppy is not cooperating. I shall retry it, but I may end-up having to begin the chapter from scratch – please be patient, I know I usually updated Life in monthly instalments and I was trying to do at least that with Absolute Pitch but there has been utter chaos in my life lately. Thanks for being so understanding.)


	2. Fall to Darkness

1**Title**: _Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit_

**Author:** Gold-Snitcher

**Chapter Two:** Falling into Darkness

**Pairing: **SS/HP

Harry wasn't sure what the spell his keepers used on him was, but it left him with a profound disinclination to do much of anything. He had thus formed a resolve to stay moving, deciding that any hope of salvation lay in his will.

So Harry paced his cell, cautious to avoid the puddles where his illness had solidified into a sticky, tacky substance. He thought about why he was there, and what purpose this strange form of torture could serve. He ate, since food was brought to him regularly, though Harry had never seen anyone bringing it into his cell.

Then his keepers would return and it all began again.

Thus a pattern was set for what was at the very least fourteen days.

Visits from his keepers became more frequent.

More days passed and Harry began to lose interest in his meager supply of food. He lived on water and nibbles of extras. The only variation in each day lay in the food that appeared in his cell and the thoughts that occupied him.

At first, Harry occupied himself with mental gymnastics, running through spells, curses, anti-curses, potions recipes; but this lasted for only a few days. After that, his thoughts became increasingly disjointed.

There were days when Harry forgot that he was a wizard. Forgot that he had magic, forgot that there were likely strong wards on his cell that prevented him from using it.

There were days when Harry forgot about Hogwarts and his friends. Days when Harry could not at all understand why these people would be interested in a muggle boy - days when he could not recall Voldemort or Death Eaters, or the Order of the Phoenix are any of that. But these days were few, and oddly, it was the meager meals left for him and the spell that was cast on him that would recall him from his bouts of delirium.

Most days Harry spent his time lost in memory.

Harry remembered his fight with Voldemort, or walking into the Great Hall for the very first time, or the intense pride he had felt when Severus had complimented his potion in one of their after-class meetings.

He thought mostly of Severus.

Stripped of everything, most especially his self-delusion, Harry became aware, almost painfully, that he was in love with the man.

In that moment, his image of romanticism burst. He recalled their last real interaction before things became awkward and tentative, and this new knowledge only seemed to increase Harry's sense of despair.

Harry wasn't certain where the idea had come from. At best, he could only hypothesize that it had been brewing in the back of his mind since Albus had first suggested the need for them to overcome their irritation with the other in order to aid the Order.

It had taken time, and they had often fallen back into old habits, but realizations and small epiphanies had made understanding the other easier. Not to mention the odd quirks in behavior which they found that they shared: they were rabidly independent, both of them impatient with lesser minds, both complete unconventionalists.

Much sooner than anyone within the Order could have anticipated, Severus Snape and Harry Potter were a highly effective team, and surprisingly good friends. But, for Harry, it had slowly become more than that.

Vibrations in the wall again, and Harry pressed his hand against the rock, hoping that he was mistaken.

He wasn't.

Slowly, Harry climbed from his makeshift bed and tensed his muscles. The least he could do was put up a small fight before they cast the subduing spell on him.

The door opened.

Bright light, dark cloaks, strong hands and two spells that Harry knew now, knew so well he wondered if they would come to him as easily as _wingardium leviosa_. One to cease his struggles; the other to flood him with agony.

And then ecstasy.

Harry lay on the ground, shivering with release and gasping in breath from the shock of the quick transition of sensation. It became more and more overwhelming each time.

He closed his eyes and slept.

"_I don't see what the fuss is about," Harry said as he was very carefully settled onto a bed in the familiar hospital wing of Hogwarts. "Honestly, I'm fine," he insisted. "Is this my same bed?" he asked. He had grown quite fond of his bed in the hospital wing, firmly believing that it was less lumpy than the others. _

"_Mr. Potter," but Madame Pomfrey couldn't finish because again Harry was wracked with the astounding pain as he experienced Voldemort's rage, and the effects of the cruciatus that the dark wizard was casting. Harry felt a warm wetness spreading over his face and could vaguely hear panicked shouts before he slipped into unconsciousness._

_Harry awoke to the feel of fingers in his hair. He was about to start purring at the pleasant sensation when the headache set in and instead he moaned. "Welcome back, Potter," said a familiar soft and dark voice, and Harry squinted his eyes opened and made an attempt at a smile._

"_Sev," Harry greeted quietly. ''lo," he said as the dark haired man gently hefted him into a sitting position, propping pillows behind his back._

"_Drink," Severus ordered as he held a vial to Harry's lips. Harry obeyed without question or complaint, because it was Severus. Immediately, the pain in his head retreated. _

_  
"It wasn't you, was it?" Harry asked. No need to specify what he was asking, they both knew._

"_No," Severus said, and again Harry felt the hand run over his hair, smoothing it out. Severus brushed it out of his eyes and Harry saw tenderness in the potions masters' eyes. "I was unharmed this time." _

_Harry nodded vaguely, scanning the hospital room as if noticing it for the first time. It was dark, as it was nighttime, and it was empty. On the night stand by Harry's bed, there was a lamp which was lit softly, and several various vials, one bowl of reddish water, and a cloth that was covered in what Harry determined was blood. _

_Seeing his shock, Severus answered, "Your scar split open. Poppy had quite a time staunching the blood flow, and you were given several replenishing potions. You should be fine, barring a slight fatigue."_

"_Did he say anything?" Harry asked. "I didn't have a vision. I wasn't even asleep. It happened in the middle of dinner," Harry explained._

"_His usual ravings, nothing very useful except a vague thought of storming Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. The Order, of course, will begin strengthening the defense of both of these." _

_Harry's eyes were drifting shut again. "Hey," he said, vaguely accusatory despite his growing exhaustion. "You tricked me," he said as it became increasingly difficult to stay awake._

_  
"Not quite. It was a headache cure. You are, as usual, being contrary again," Severus said, referring to the varying effects that potions had on Harry's system. _

_Harry sighed, too tired to say anything else, and fell asleep to the feel of that hand again, stroking through his hair._

Harry's thoughts were continuously interrupted by spells and sleep and an ever-increasing befuddlement.

He had taken to making a small pile of chips of stone to keep track of each time he had been struck with the spell.

When his pile had reached forty, Harry became aware of a new element in the cycle – anticipation.

After a day or two, it digressed into restlessness.

And then, distressingly, Harry began acting in eagerness, standing by the door to greet his keepers.

………………………..

Harry shuddered violently as the door slid closed, after-shocks from the spell still racing through his system and he tried to recover his breath. He realized that it had been a very long time since he had felt any pain at the onslaught of the spell.

He couldn't move, that much was made obvious when he tried to and his world, though completely black, spun awkwardly and he was forced to cling to the floor lest he fall off the edge of the world. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, but his thoughts were inexorably drawn to Severus and the fight …

……..

"_I knew I would find you here," Harry said triumphantly as he entered the lab and shut the door behind him. _

"_A brilliant deduction, Mr. Potter. Where else would I have been?" Severus drawled. He did not look up from the potion he was stirring, but Harry didn't mind. _

_Harry had had a breakthrough that morning in creating the spell that would track Death Eaters through their mark. Of course, it required the help of his connection via his scar, and it was tiring, since there was no mid-link because Voldemort was dead, but still, it was better than nothing. Harry, feeling proud of his accomplishment, had decided a break was in order, and had left his loft in London and set out to track down Severus. _

_The last he had heard, Severus had been working at Malfoy Manor on a stronger version of veritaserum, since it had been discovered that some of the Death Eaters had ways to thwart it. Draco had offered his manor because it was so strongly warded that Severus would be able to work uninterrupted by Death Eaters out for revenge against the traitor._

"_How is it coming? A breakthrough yet?" he asked, settling down on a workbench and watching Severus stir his creation._

"_It is a suitable color and has not yet exploded," Severus answered._

"_Well, that's promising, anyway," Harry said. "I've finished the tracking spell. It still requires the link from my scar to it, but I'm almost certain it will work. I tested it in small scale and could sense Pettigrew," Harry said with a grin. Peter Pettigrew had been caught, and was currently being held at the Ministry of Magic. Since the Ministry was in London, not too far from Harry's loft, he had thought it would be the best place to test. He didn't want to overtax himself, at least, Severus had come up with some really evil descriptions of what he would do to Harry should he overtax himself, and Harry was almost certain that the dark haired man had meant every last one. _

"_Do you need help?" Harry offered._

"_Not at present," Severus dismissed the offer, meeting Harry's eyes fleetingly. Harry knew that something was wrong, Severus was certainly acting off, but he was loath to press the man lest he aggravate the situation. "This small breakthrough warranted your coming all this way. That eager to have your progress noted?" Severus asked._

"_No," Harry said, frowning at this harsh comment. "I just wanted a break. It's been ages since we had any time to talk and I thought I'd come and see you. See if you needed help." He fidgeted, because there was something else that had drawn him there as well, but he was not so foolish to speak it aloud._

"_And it had nothing to do with a certain pressing question which you had finally worked up the nerve to ask?" Severus drawled. He stopped stirring and removed the stirring rod, cleaning it on a piece of cloth and watching Harry with a dark look._

"_What? I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry snapped._

"_Truly?" Severus asked wryly. "Not so very Gryffindor at all, then."_

"_I came to visit with you and to see if you needed any help," Harry clarified, feeling oddly raw and nervous._

"_Perhaps a further encouragement?" Severus questioned. "It was only a matter of time, after all, before you're overly romanticized self began to think of such things."_

"_What?" Harry asked, he was backing up and Severus prowled forward. "Sev, I don't…" but he did, and he hated it. Hated having Severus talk to him like this. _

_Harry felt, suddenly, as if the past several years had never happened. As if he were still that hopeless eleven-year-old who had, for some unknown reason, gained the hatred of his potions master. He suddenly didn't feel like the seventeen year old that he was, powerful as he was heralded to be. He had defeated Voldemort after all, but somehow, looking at Severus who seemed oddly angry and frustrated, Harry didn't feel like he had any power at all._

"_And what do you picture for us, Harry?" he snapped. "After you have us bonded, likely under Albus' fond eye, what then? A honeymoon in Paris? Long walks, hand-in-hand, on the beach? You must know by now that I am certainly far from a romantic fool. So what is it, then? Is it the sex? What do you imagine?" Severus asked._

_Suddenly, Harry's back was against a wall and he was breathing rapidly. Severus stepped forward and planted a hand on either side of Harry, effectively trapping him. "Surely you realize that it has been a very long time for me? Do you imagine yourself awakening the need in me?" Severus purred._

"_Severus, stop this," Harry demanded, his voice sounding surprisingly calm and authoritative given the situation. Because Harry had imagined such things, hadn't he? And now he felt so incredibly foolish for even thinking, for even a moment … but then, Severus was different around him. He treated Harry in a way he treated no one else, not even Draco. Was it his fault that he had dared to imagine?_

"_You have our lives planned out for us, don't you?" Severus demanded in a lethal purr. "Did you even stop to think how woefully inappropriate it all is?" Severus snapped. _

"_Severus, let me go," Harry pleaded, somehow becoming frantic. He knew, he knew all of this, but that didn't mean that thinking about it was wrong. _

_Harry could still imagine anything he wanted, dammit! He began to panic when Severus did not step back, and, in a moment of anger at this man who he had trusted, Harry let himself go wild. _

_He heard footsteps coming down the hall towards the lab, and Harry struck. He lashed out with his foot, kicking in Severus' knee and, as he stumbled back, he shoved the man's upper body away. At that moment, the door to the lab opened and Draco stepped in, his welcoming smile turning into a frown at the sight, and Harry didn't wait to hear any of the excuses, he bolted. Shoved straight passed Draco and ignored the blonde's startled call._

…..

That had happened at the beginning of August, not long after his seventeenth birthday. He hadn't seen Severus for any prolonged period of time since then, a few fleeting glimpses of him when they had been at an Order meeting together, but Harry had left quickly after that, not wanting to speak with the man. Not sure how he felt. And besides several awkward conversations, in which Severus, admittedly, appeared tentative and oddly apologetic, and Harry could still not bring himself to relax, there had been nothing, nothing that even parodied their interactions before.

Harry had been on the train to start his final year at Hogwarts and face the Potions Master, but it didn't matter anymore, because now Harry was here. Alone. In the dark. And he wondered if Severus was even looking for him.

……………………

Harry found that there was a third state between the sweet horror of the poison flooding his being and his body's craving for the next state of grace. When the spell ebbed, for a few moments, Harry was granted peace; a brief moment of respite.

It became very clear that whatever the spell was, its affects on him were more long-term than he had at first been willing to believe. He began to make a conscious effort to return to himself.

Harry ran through memories of past chess matches with Ron, and some even with Severus, remembering games that he had lost, or won, and strategizing and re-strategizing to change the outcome of the match. He paced often, and recited lists of charms, though he was still unable to make use of his magic.

……………………..

Seventy-three chips were in place, and a fierce restlessness for the seventy-fourth had set in. Harry occupied himself by sweeping debris with a rubbery boiled egg that he had not been eating when he became aware of a more unusual movement above him.

Harry dropped the egg and stumbled over to the wall, pressing his hand into it and leaning close. Vibrations in the stone meant footsteps, so he had learned.

The steps were distant but quick. Some emergency had hit whatever faction of Death Eaters he had been taken captive by. Harry turned to the door, or where he surmised the door to be since it was still camouflaged, and pressed his ear to it when he heard the heavy fall of boots.

Were they coming to kill him? Had the time finally come?

Harry refused to be killed without a fight. He dove to his little reed bed where he stashed some larger rocks and scooped them up. He heard bolts sliding on the door, a familiar sound, and he was stunned to find a part of him conditioned to feel excitement, since the sound of the bolts usually preceded the spell.

Harry clamped down on the anticipation and focused, this wasn't the spell coming for him; this was death!

The door began to open slowly, but Harry was prepared for anything and braced himself. "Potter?"

And suddenly Harry's breath congealed in his throat.

"Potter, are you here?" Harry's mouth worked but he couldn't produce a sound. "Merlin, they've taken him," said the voice, sounding hoarse with despair. "Fetch the aurors and bring them here!" the voice yelled, and Harry managed to jolt himself out of his shock.

"Snape?" His paltry store of defense rattled down around Harry's toes as he dropped them.

"Potter! Are you alright?" Severus asked. "I can't see you."

"I – I don't think you want to," Harry said, but, with an arm raised to shield his eyes from the brightness, he shuffled further towards Severus.

Harry was shaking and dirty and gaunt. Severus stepped forward quickly, but Harry was startled and he retreated slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Severus said with mild exasperation in his tone. Still, when Severus moved to examine Harry again, he moved slower. "Merlin," Severus whispered as he traced something on Harry's wrist.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of more boots hitting hard against the stone floors. Severus looked piercingly at Harry before he turned around to face whoever was on the other side of the door. "The aurors will not be necessary, I have found him. Summon a healer immediately," Severus said and a moment later, the footsteps retreated.

Severus hesitated before turning back and looking at Harry. Harry did not see the odd expression on his friend and professor's face because he had just become aware of something that he had not noticed before. On his arms, Harry could make-out strange markings, like ancient Celtic designs or something of the like, done in faint red.

As Harry squinted closer, he realized that the markings were not painted on; they had been carved into his body. Vaguely, Harry noted that some of the markings looked familiar, but he could not place them. Following the marks, Harry realized they covered the entire front of his body, and likely marred his back as well.

"What?" he asked, dazedly, and Severus placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him when he weaved. Harry was having difficulty processing the events that had just occurred. He had been prepared for his death, however determined he had bee to fight it. And now, here was Severus, the man he had realized he loved, the man who he had fought with, the man he had been avoiding like the plague prior to this mess.

Harry stepped back. After a moment of simply staring at each other, Severus sighed. "I will go and fetch you some clothes. Will you be alright?" he asked, his voice sounding soft and wonderful to Harry's ears.

"Just don't – just leave the door open, please," Harry requested.

"Of course," Severus said, before he turned around and exited the cell.

When Severus returned, Harry was huddled just inside his cell. Harry was relieved that the man refrained from commenting on it and instead handed him a set of clothes - pants and a shirt - both of which seemed to be too big for Harry, but it was better than his now-ratty boxers.

"They were you captor's," Severus explained. "I could not find anything else quite yet." Harry put the clothes on. It was a curious intimacy, to be wearing his captor's clothes. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, but he was relieved to have a barrier between his body and the world, somehow he was a little less vulnerable now.

"Come," Severus said, and Harry followed him out of the cell.

Their progress was slow, as Harry stumbled along beside Severus and the man shortened his steps in order to accommodate Harry. Severus guided him out of the small cellar and up a tight winding staircase without ever touching him, but his presence at Harry's side was comforting.

"There are aurors here," Severus explained. "They wish you to identify the men who were captured. Can you do this now?" Severus asked. Harry nodded, and Severus guided him over to a tightly packed group of aurors. They were standing over four men who had each been petrified.

"Were these men responsible for your capture, Mr. Potter?" one of the aurors asked.

Harry looked at each of the captives closely. "Yes, but there was also one other. He came on the train," Harry said.

"Do you remember what he looked like?" the auror questioned. Harry wracked his memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he was able to recall enough information to give a fair description.

When he had finished, Severus chased the Aurors away and led Harry into a fairly large side-room.

Harry made his way directly to the window, placing his hands on the sill and, nervously, as if the world might suddenly disappear, turn dark and cold, he leaned forward and peered outside.

It was overwhelming, the light and the color. Disorienting in its brightness, but it was a welcome sensation to Harry, and he stared out at the world, relishing the sight of it.

After a moment, Severus walked over to his side and after glancing at him, leaned over and opened the window. Harry closed his eyes as a gust of cool autumn hair blew passed him. He savored the sensation and the smell, opening his eyes again and noticing that the leaves had fallen from the trees already and lay like fire, licking at the trunks of the trees and burning up the grass.

"How long?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse. When he had been taken, school had been just about to start, the leaves were still green with life.

"Seven weeks," Severus answered, and Harry didn't know what to say. It had felt like so much longer. He had wondered, for a brief moment when Severus had gone to fetch him clothes, if his hair was grey with age, if that was why he felt stiff and achy. Seven weeks didn't seem like much at all. Little over a month. Seven weeks of darkness, of isolation, of his captors and their they're brutal hands, of the Spell, of disorientation, unknowing and uncertainty.

Severus returned with a cup of tea that he placed into Harry's hands, and then snatched it back when it threatened to tumble out the window. He returned to the server, spooned several large cubes of sugar into it, and then handed it back to Harry.

Harry sipped the tea obediently, but could not stomach the sight of the biscuits and sandwiches Severus was offering, and said as much.

After his second cup of tea, Harry settled into a large armchair, and tucked his feet up beneath him. He felt a wave of exhaustion flooding him as he became more accustomed to his freedom and the adrenaline that had been fueling him from the moment he had felt the vibrations in wall began to finally wear off.

"The healer is here. She will do what she can for the warding," Severus said.

"Warding?" Harry asked, feeling very confused and expecting to wake up any moment now, curled on his little reed bed. Now that he had regained his freedom, he kept expecting it to be snatched back.

Severus simply stared at him piercingly, his eyes momentarily flicking to Harry's chest. Looking down at the carvings on his body, Harry realized that this was the reason the symbols were familiar; these were wards.

Harry had never once heard of wards being cut into the flesh of a wizard. Wards were created to stave off magic, cutting into the flesh of an inherently magical being would be excruciating, but Harry was only vaguely aware of a general ache in his body.

"The Aurors will want to interview you. No one is quite certain what happened to you," Severus continued, sitting down opposite Harry.

"Hm," was Harry's only answer. He was beginning to shiver as the cold set into him, and Severus noted this with a frown but before he could speak there was a gently knock on the door.

Harry stared at the carvings on his arms while Severus answered the door. He was barely aware of a quiet conversation, but he made not attempt to follow it. He was a mess of bruises that he could not recall the cause of. He had fought and struggled often with his captors, but with it still seemed like an inordinate amount of purple and greenish splotches. Still, Harry supposed his captors had been inordinately large men, who had not shied away from sound smack when he pushed them too far, which he made a point of doing every now and again. It had become one way for him to maintain control; he knew exactly what he could do to prompt a certain reaction from his captors. It was, perhaps, not the best thing he could have done to remind himself that he still had some power of his world, but it was the only thing that he really did have control over at the time.

His musings were interrupted as a woman with dark-blond hair pulled into a long braid knelt in front of him. She had a warm smile and bright blue eyes. "Hello, my name is Lethis. I'm going to heal you now, is that all right?" she asked. Harry simply nodded his head and allowed her to coax him into lying on the sofa.

Healer Lethis was quite skilled at her craft, and though Harry was certain he should be feeling jittery around strangers, he felt quite relaxed around the young witch. She worked quickly and smoothly, her touch light and gentle, and Harry drifted in and out of sleep as she worked.

The next time he woke, he was startled by the absence of pain in his body. It was such a foreign sensation, to be well, and only now did Harry realize that what he had identified as a mild ache throughout his body had been such an intense pain. He felt more aware and alert and he realized the pain was likely dulling his senses.

A cup of tea was held before him and Harry struggled to sit up before he accepted it. Severus settled back into the chair. There was no sign of Healer Lethis.

"The warding has been removed but Healer Lethis thought it advisable to let you rest. There will be some scarring likely, but none of the wounds were infected. There were some other afflictions that she was unable to heal." Again that intense look, and Harry wondered why Severus was looking like him like that. "Of course, she is unable to mention anything because it would be in violation of the oath she took as a healer, but she went ahead and took another blood oath to you anyway."

"She what?" Harry asked, completely confused. He knew about blood oaths. Depending on the oath she took, Healer Lethis might have pledged herself to be Harry's slave, inducted him into her family, or any other of the strange things you could promise under a blood oath; but regardless what she swore, it was an unbreakable vow.

"She will not speak of your ailments to anyone, which will be most helpful," Severus said. Harry wondered why secrecy was so important.

"I don't understand," Harry admitted, feeling a bit foolish. "Why would she do that?"

Again the look crossed the other man's face. As much as Harry enjoyed having Severus back, he was starting to hate that look. "No, I don't suppose you do," Severus said after a moment. "No one knows what you endured while held captive by the Death Eaters, but I am quite familiar with the results of this particular spell. And Lethis simply confirmed my suspicions. It was a German incantation, yes?" Severus asked, and Harry nodded, frowning.

"_Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit,_" Severus said. "Roughly translated, it means: To crave the darkness." Severus was silent as Harry let this sink in. "There will be time to speak of this later, right now, I think a bath is in order."

Harry did not look up from his cup as Severus went into a room off of the one he was sitting in. He heard the sound of water running, and smelt an oddly floral smell before Severus emerged. "Come," he said.

Harry set his cup down with unsteady hands and obediently entered the room Severus had exited, noting the tub that had been liberally filled with bubble bath. "Will you be alright?" Severus asked.

"Don't lock the door," Harry said, not looking away from the bath. He waited until he heard the door close behind him and then he peeled off the clothes and sank into the blissful warmth of the water.

He scrubbed his body furiously, washing his hair several times. He scraped under his fingernails until the skin was tender and there was no trace of the grit that had clotted there. He scrubbed until he felt like Lady Macbeth, scrubbing away the dirt that had long been washed off.

Still, Harry had no desire to leave the warmth of the tub. He sat quietly, unwilling to admit that he did not want to face the aurors and the questions that were likely to come. Not wanting to admit that he felt like screaming and begging for someone to cast the Spell, that it felt like he could not breathe.

He heard the door in the other room open and could make-out several voices in conversation, then Severus' snappish bark rising about the others, followed by silence, and then the opening and closing of the door.

A moment later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Are you quite finished lollygagging in there? Or do you harbor some secret desire to become a fish?"

Harry managed a small smile at the comment and convinced himself that he couldn't hide from reality forever. Slowly, he hefted himself from the bath and dried off and put on his clothes, before draining the tub and stepping out to the other room.

Severus was pacing, though he did not appear openly agitated. "Fudge has arrived, unfortunately, and insisted on interrogating your captors. I'm afraid they are claiming that you cast the spell upon yourself. That they even made an attempt to stop you and removed your wand, but that you continued casting it with the use of your wandless magic."

"That's rubbish!" Harry snarled, wanting to hit something very hard.

"Calm down," Severus said. "Of course it is rubbish. But the spell is notorious for taking its time in turning a wizard, especially a wizard with magic as Light as yours. There will be some concern about how easy it was for you to become addicted so quickly."

Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to rant and rave, and hit something, and kick it, too. He was furious at the unfairness of all of this. After all that he had done, defeating the bloody dark lord! And where the hell was the Ministry, then? And now, after all he had endured! And it was just bloody _obvious_ that it had been the damn Order that was responsible for finding him, and here the stupid Ministry was, here to arrest him for something he could not help! Unjustly and ridiculously and _ungratefully_ arresting him because he had reacted to _torture_ in a mode that wasn't expected.

Before Harry could voice his anger, he heard the words, spoken in a voice he had never expected to hear these words spoken by, and again the wave of pain hit him, only Harry barely felt the pain anymore, focusing instead on the ecstasy which quickly followed. And he shivered and almost dropped to his knees, clutching the table for support.

He stood there for a moment, breathing shakily, with his eyes closed, and when he opened them there was almost a sad look in those dark eyes that Harry did not understand. "You will appear more steady, now," Severus explained, before he draped his robe around Harry's shoulders.

"You could have warned me," Harry snapped, though there was no bite in his words, he was still rapped in the bliss.

"You will do none of the talking, is that clear?" Severus asked, and Harry nodded weakly before his wrist was snatched in a vice like grip and Severus dragged him out of the room.

TBC

Thanks so much to those who reviewed. And double thanks to Miss Assassin who emailed me about my mistake in my German, and to those who (very politely, to my surprise) offered to help. I'm sorry for my error; I'm using a measly German/English dictionary and did my best. Thanks again, everyone!


	3. If There is Light

**Title:** _Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit_  
**Author:** Gold-Snitcher  
**Chapter Three: **If There is Light  
**Pairing:** SS/HP

-------------------------

As he followed Severus obediently through the halls, Harry could vaguely recall the confidence and power he felt during the war as he paced confidently through Hogwarts, cloak billowing behind him, knowing that he was the head of a very great force; that even Dumbledore could not and did not wield the same power that Harry himself did.

It seemed like an age and more in the past now. Harry felt skittish and nervous, wanting at once to lunge forward and throttle the Minister, who he could now clearly see, and also to run and hide in some dark corner. As it was, he settled for stepping closer to Severus and concentrated on not letting his nerves show. It was imperative that he appear as normal and unaffected as possible.

"Ah, Severus, we were wondering when you would arrive," said a deep voice and Harry recognized Kingsley Shakelbolt.

"I understand there have been allegations made against Mr. Potter, claiming that he used dark arts on himself while in the custody of these known Death Eaters," Severus replied, looking impassively at the occupants of the room, which were several aurors, the minister, and Harry's captors.

Harry took a small step backwards but stopped himself before he could tuck his body behind Severus completely. "Yes, well. We want to be thorough, you know," Fudge said. "Want to explore every possibility, be certain we have those responsible in custody."

"That is, I understand, the purpose of veritaserum," Severus replied. "Still, I think it prudent to address these allegations directly before they get out of hand. Mr. Potter was good enough to agree."

"Yes. Wonderful," Fudge said, twitching slightly. He had never quite adjusted to Severus or his role during the war. In fact, when Severus had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, along with other Order members, Fudge had hurriedly backed away as soon as the medallion had been unceremoniously dropped over Severus' head. "I'll have someone fetch the serum, shall I?"

"I rather think not," Severus bit out. "As I'm sure each of you gentlemen can understand, Mr. Potter is suffering the effects of six weeks of isolation, malnutrition and mistreatment. It is inadvisable to administer such a potent potion to him. You may however, freely dose his captors as they are showing no signs of physical ailment, aside from a rather striking set of teeth marks and a few scratches and bruises."

Harry looked proudly at the imprint of his teeth that had been stamped onto his captor's hand. It had been a half-hearted attempt to maintain his own faculties, and ineffective though it may have been, it had at least served to relieve Harry of some of his frustration.

"I have spoken with Mr. Potter about the events up to and including his captivity, and I assure you there was nothing voluntary about it; a story, I'm sure, that you are well aware of. These allegations of the use of a dark spell, however, are most alarming," Severus continued.

"I should say," Fudge agreed.

"He did it," one of the brutes, which was how Harry thought of his captors, spoke. "Horrible, it was," he continued. "He would cast it anywhere he pleased. I'd come upon him writhing about in the library or the kitchen. And then when we's took his wand from him, 'opin to stop it, he would take to the dungeons, he would. Cast it on himself, wandlessly."

It was preposterous for several reasons, and Harry wanted very much to laugh at the stupid excuse that the man had concocted. Still, each of his captors were spouting the same story, spooning it to Fudge who swallowed it up. It was very real and very dangerous, and Harry felt afraid and enraged and confused.

"Anyone with half a mind could understand the stupidity of these allegations," Severus snapped. "The alleged dark spell, Sehnen Nach Der Dunkelheit is rendered ineffective when cast upon the self. It is a method of forcibly increasing the darkness in a person. If self-cast, one is merely recycling magic about oneself to no effect. The spell distinctly requires the introduction of a new magic, specifically dark magic, to increase the darkness within the victim." Harry noted that Severus was emphasizing the fact that Harry in no way enjoyed or wanted this experience. He had a flash of guilt as he remembered those times when he had eagerly waited by the door in anticipation of the spell. Harry didn't think he would mention that.

"Secondly, to cast the spell properly, magic must be conducted through a focussing point. Meaning, it requires a wand to be properly cast. For Mr. Potter to have cast the spell on himself, an impossibility as I have said, and do it wandlessly it would have been effectively suicide, as the darkness without a focussing and distancing element -- a wand -- would have been far too potent and would have overwhelmed him, resulting in a most painful death.

"Thirdly, had Mr. Potter been a victim of addiction to this spell prior to his captivity here, which is what this gentleman seems to be implying, he would be demonstrating a greater attachment to the spell then he currently is. And, lastly, you will find bruising on Mr. Potter's arms that would imply that he had been forcibly held down at some point. I know Mr. Potter quite well, having fought alongside him during the Great War, and know that he would not lie idly by and let a spell of this magnitude be cast upon him. I find the scratching and bruising, and particularly that set of teeth marks right there, quite interesting." Severus paused, looking at the teeth marks with an odd expression of satisfaction.

Fudge and the other aurors had become increasingly furious throughout Severus' speech, angry at the Death Eaters who had thought to trick them, and Harry could only marvel at the man that was his friend as he quirked his head to the side and added the finishing touch to his monologue. "Not to mention Mr. Potter was physically incapable of casting magic due to the wards which had been cut into his flesh," Severus tacked on, as if in after-thought.

There was a shocked silence, and the aurors turned on Harry's captors, glaring furiously. "Very well," Fudge said, sounding quite cowed. "You understand, of course, we just wanted to be certain."

"Of course," Severus said, coolly.

"You have experienced no side-effects of the spell?" Fudge asked, this time directing his question to Harry.

"None," Harry lied.

"No signs of addiction?"

"Not at all," he responded.

"It's good to have you back, Mr. Potter," Fudge said, suddenly sounding quite relaxed. "I'll deal with these men promptly. You have my word."

"Am I allowed to leave, sir?" Harry asked catching the strange look Severus gave him when he sounded more detached and cool than he had intended.

"You will have to dictate a statement, you understand. Procedure and such, all quite tedious, but then you are free to leave," Fudge said. Harry nodded vaguely and followed Shakelbolt out of the room, presumably to record his statement, Severus keeping pace beside him.

………………..

"No, I am experiencing no ill affects from either my captivity, or from exposure to the Spell," Harry lied once more, this time on the record. "I am, however, feeling quite exhausted."

Severus took his hint immediately, rising from his chair and making excuses and ushering Harry out of the room. Harry was already beginning to feel a craving for the Spell, and it had only been a few hours since Severus had cast it on him.

Harry didn't think to ask where Severus was leading him until a bright red sock with small grinning pumpkins on it was placed in his hand, and then, just as he was opening his mouth to question his companion's sanity, he felt a familiar tug, and then the wave of nausea which always accompanied transportation via Portkey ever since his experience in the graveyard, and then Harry appeared in the living room of his loft in London.

"Master Harry Potter sir!" a familiar, if high-pitched voice cried. "Oh! Pip is ever so happy that master Harry Potter sir is alright!"

"Hello Pip," Harry greeted, somewhat tiredly. He wondered if he would ever be able to ingrain in his house elf's head that 'Harry' was just fine. Each attempt he made, however, resulted in Pip looking at him in awe and adding another honorary to Harry's title. "How have things been?"

"Pip has been keeping things in order for you, Master Harry Potter sir." At that moment Severus appeared alongside Tonks, and Pip was distracted, beaming once more at Harry before popping away, likely to the kitchen to prepare tea.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted with a warm smile, patting him on the back; Harry took a step away from her and shifted uneasily. He was aware of both her and Severus' gaze on him, before Severus departed for a moment in order to locate a suitable beverage that would not contradict or clash with the potion he had brought to give to Harry.

"He's been in a right state," Tonks said as they both watched the man stalk in the direction of the kitchen. "He's been frantic, not bothering with sleep or food. Insisting that the Order was procrastinating and not working hard enough."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what to make of that. "He's a good friend," he settled for, though he chewed on his lip. He was feeling unsteady again. He was aware that his body was beginning to shake, thrumming with the need for the Spell. He didn't want to talk. Didn't want to see or speak to anyone about anything.

"If you don't mind," Harry said, tossing in a fake yawn to add to the credibility of his statement. "I'm knackered. I think I'm just going to turn in. Sorry, Tonks. Make sure Severus gets some food and some sleep."

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm to stay right here with you for protection. Ministry Order. But I mightn't go for a kip yet, Harry, Snape will be back in a moment. He'll want you to take whatever potion he snatched up when he popped by Grimmauld."

Harry tried hard not to wince at that. He didn't like thinking of Grimmauld Place, it held nothing but bad memories, first of Sirius' death, then of plans for the war, and dissecting failures, and going over losses. Harry was of a mind to sell it, only he wasn't sure he wanted something that seemed so personal, choked with memories of his own past as it was, going up on the market. The thought made him feel as if he were contemplating ridding himself of a limb.

"Drink this, and then finish the milk," Severus said as if on cue as he rounded the corner and immediately offered Harry a vial and a glass of warm milk.

Harry obeyed, not even caring if he was consuming poison. Vaguely disappointed when there wasn't even at least a bad aftertaste to the draught. "I'm going to sleep now," Harry said as soon as he had followed Severus' orders.

"That would be wise," Severus agreed. Harry looked at him a moment, wondering if the man would say anything more. When nothing followed that comment Harry nodded, forcing a smile for Tonks, before he turned around and left to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He fell into bed without even bothering to change out of his captor's clothing.

……………………

When Harry awoke he felt unbearably disoriented. He spent over ten minutes blinking at the light and frowning at his pleasant and distantly familiar surroundings before he could place the room as his own.

As soon as he had accomplished this seemingly great feat, the door to his room opened and for a moment Harry tensed, the conflicting emotions of fear – recollecting his treatment at the hands of his captors, and yearning – wishing that whoever was breaching his sanctuary had some intention of casting the Spell on him once more.

He was disappointed to be faced with Pip, and Tonks following not far behind. She smiled brightly before tripping over his wardrobe leg and managed to direct her stumble so it ended with an ungainly flop into his desk chair. "Wotcher, Harry!" she said, as if she hadn't just made an incredibly foolish entry. "You should eat up!" Harry looked at the tray that Pip was placing across his lap and tried to conceal his wave of nausea. Pip frowned and when Harry shook his head, Pip obediently removed the tray, setting it onto the nightstand.

"Is there something that Master Harry Potter sir would like to eat?" Pip asked, clearly distressed that what had been prepared caused his master distress.

"No, thank-you, Pip. I'll eat this a bit later," Harry lied. He had been doing that a great deal lately. Still, Pip seemed soothed and he grinned broadly before disappearing from the room.

"Professor Snape has gone. He said you should take care to drink plenty of fluids and make sure to eat. Other than that, he said to have a healer come and help, that the spell will take a while to work out of your system …" she kept on, oblivious to the headache she was causing in him, and Harry tried very hard to shut her out; to focus on his breathing, which coming increasingly laboured.

It didn't work.

"Tonks, could you shut up a moment?" he found himself snapping. A part of Harry was horrified, but a disturbingly larger part of him looked at her surprise with a certain amount of disdain. He had grown intolerant of incessant nattering. What did she expect? He'd spent seven weeks in solitude with the only contact being with brutes who had tortured him and blessed him all in one. Did she expect for him to walk away from that without any effect?

He felt guilty for his words and his harsh thoughts almost as soon as they happened, when Tonks' bright face turned shocked and troubled. "I have a blistering headache and would prefer if I could just have some quiet," he said, sounding apologetic, and even feeling horrid for snapping.

Tonks seemed to understand and her initially shocked expression smoothed. "'Course, Harry. Then quiet you shall have. Call if you need anything, I'm just outside." She rose from the chair, grinned and closed the door behind her.

Harry glowered at the door. She was outside? Who had invited her to stay? This was his home. Was this Dumbledore's doing? More of that man's asinine meddling?

Harry sniffed disdainfully and with a flick of his hand vanished the tray of food, and then with a certain amount of satisfaction, he warded his door tightly shut before, exhausted from the use of his magic (which had been forbidden by Healer Lethis for at least a few weeks), Harry went to sleep, still in those same clothes.

……………….

Harry opened his eyes and looked first at the clock that was sitting on his nightstand. He realized that this was the second day of his freedom.

He lay there for a moment; feeling distinctly unenthused and simply stared at his room. It was becoming familiar to him again, but he still felt like a foreigner there. His entire body was shaking and he was feeling near delirious with fever.

At eleven o'clock, Tonks began pounding on the door and asking him to open it. She tried at first to unlock his wards, then to threaten him with various fates if he did not unlock them for her. Then she tried bribing him, then pleading, and begging. After a while, everything went silent.

At twelve o'clock, Pip appeared inside his room and apologized profusely for disturbing 'master Harry Potter sir', and the poor elf had looked so distressed and Harry only stared at him blankly. When the elf offered a plate of plain toast, unadorned even by butter, Harry accepted and managed to nibble at a corner. The elf had beamed at him and disappeared when Harry had asked him to.

It was unnerving, the conflicting surge of emotions that were raging in him. Harry felt all at once immensely weak, and furious with this weakness. He craved comfort, someone to sit with him and assure him, but he knew that should anyone attempt to do this he would snap at them and despise them quite completely.

And there was that other truth -- the simple, grinding shame for allowing it all to happen. He felt at once, a rage at himself and everyone else.

He hated everyone except the true villain because, after all, He had never tried to pretend to be anything other than what he was. He had never lied to Harry.

……………….

Harry slept the rest of the day through, waking only for brief moments where he once again suffered through bouts of disorientation. He felt increasingly shaky and feverish, and he would fall back to sleep wishing that someone would come and cast the damned spell on him because he couldn't take much more of this.

…………………

Harry was not aware of the passing of the hours. He did not know what day it was, nor could he tell if he was back in his cell or in his bedroom. He knew only that the fever in him seemed to be growing and that he passed in and out of consciousness with a disturbing ease.

Harry wasn't aware of much – not even when his wards fell when his magic was weakened from his poor health. He was not awake enough to discern anything except a soothing lull of voices conversing softly and a soft coolness that stroked his face, before settling across his forehead.

Harry spent most of his time in blissful slumber. Every now and then he would rise to the surface where he could always hear people conversing but he never stayed awake long enough to connect a name to the voices he heard. He didn't like being conscious, lucidity was accompanied by a blinding ache that raced through his entire being and he felt both very hot and very cold at once and as a result, was constantly weak and shaky.

It wasn't until the second week of Harry's freedom that he woke and was clear enough to open his eyes and when he did it was to find Healer Lethis standing over him, wand poised in what looked like complex spellwork while Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey hovered in the doorway, each occupied with either staring at the healer as she worked, glowering darkly at Pip who was fretting in the corner of the room, or looking at Harry himself with pained and hopeful eyes.

It took a while for Harry to come to grips fully with what he saw, and even once he had, his throat was too sore to allow him to voice his questions or to, as he so dearly wanted, dismiss everyone and re-ward his room. He wondered how they got in to begin with. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he knew that there were too many people in too small a space for him to feel comfortable, and he was aware that his body was shaking rather furiously and he felt quite cold.

With a great effort, Harry found the strength to turn onto his side and curl into a tight ball, pulling the blankets snugly around him and lay in a shivering bundle feeling weak and defenceless; incredibly vulnerable and resentful of the fact that these people had invaded his home.

…………….

He opened his eyes once more, and the room was blissfully empty. Harry noted this with a calm and detached manner. His detachment was such that he felt he wasn't even lying in bed – it felt more as if he were hovering in the upper left corner of his bedroom, somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, and observing the shaking shivering mess on the bed.

He could recognize black ruffled hair and long slender fingers – he could place the body as his own. He could not, however, comprehend how on earth he had become so ill. His body was covered with a sheen of sweat, his eyes looked bruised and his skins was pale, nearly translucent. It made an anger rise in him. He was weak, and he was pathetic, Saviour of the Wizarding World indeed. What a joke.

…………….

In every war there are sacrifices and there are survivors. Severus Snape had put a great deal of effort into the second war against Voldemort, simply making sure that one sacrifice that many had thought might be inevitable, was indeed never made. It seemed only too ironic that he should have accomplished his goal – only to fail at the conclusion of the war.

"Wards," Healer Lethis stated as she stepped forward to his desk and set several long ribbons of black satin on the stack of potions essays he had yet to mark. "Strong magic such as his is always more extensively affected by a curse such as the one he was subjected to," she explained. Severus stared down at the black ribbons. "Added to the spells that were cut into his flesh – his magic is fluctuating drastically and is making it far more difficult to cope. The fact that he is simply turning the effects of the spell on himself is a testament to his strength of will. He could be doing quite a bit worse." Severus nodded, but still could not pry his eyes away from the solution he had been provided.

"He was already predisposed to accept the darkness," Lethis continued. "Exposure to the Avada curse left more than a visible scar – he was directly hit with the spell. His body absorbed it before it could reject it and reflect it back on Voldemort. I can't imagine how that affected him, though there is a possibility that his extensive power is a result of it. If he was able to convert the nature of the magic from a damaging spell – to purify it, if you will, of the original intent – to kill – then he would have that reserve in him."

"I don't care about technicalities," Severus said. He had picked up one of the ribbons and stroked a thumb across the soft material.

"They are the best I could do," Lethis said. "I'm not suggesting the level of ward that was used on him by his captors. The last thing he needs is to have his magic suppressed completely. These are flexible wards – they will allow him to integrate his power, to adjust. As he grows more comfortable with the change, they will relax their grip on his magic stores until he doesn't even need to wear them. It's a coping tool," Lethis explained. "There are no negative effects. I wove the spell into them myself and tailored it specifically for Mr. Potter."

"How do they work?" he questioned.

"Each hand will be bound with the ribbon, up to the elbow. Each foot as well, to mid-calf. I know the formation for it; I'll tie them myself and show him how to do it. Though I suggest, for the first month at least, that he not remove them. A part of him will rankle at the idea of them and if you give him the chance, if you remove them at any time before at least a month has passed and he has had that time to adjust – then I don't think you'll get them back on him."

"You will show me how to tie them," Severus said.

Lethis looked at him with a frown, but nodded her head. "If you wish."

"Good."

………………………….

Severus Snape stepped out of Harry Potter's fireplace in a burst of green light and strode directly towards the boy's bedroom door. Albus had woven a charm to prevent the boy from casting more wards around the room and barring them from it – which was exactly what the blasted boy had done as soon as he had returned from his captivity. The only way they had managed to get in at all was because the idiot Gryffindor had become so weak that his magic could no longer sustain the charms that kept everyone out.

Just because there were no longer wards on the bedroom however, did not mean that Severus was able to just breeze into Harry Potter's bedchamber. "Potter!" Severus demanded authoritatively as he knocked loudly on the door. He knew he was walking a fine line now, it was imperative that he be strong and demanding enough so as to motivate Potter into action – but not too much that he should awaken the darkness in the boy, because Severus was not strong enough to grapple with Harry, weakened or no, and he was well-aware that if pushed too far, Harry would resort to magic.

In response to his call, Severus heard footsteps crossing hardwood and actually allowed himself to believe that it really could be just that simple. Then he heard the sound of a lock click, and he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Potter, that lock will not keep me out of there. I have no qualms with breaking and entering. You will rouse yourself, dress and come with me at once for a walk. You have been moping in that infernal bedroom for over three weeks, it is simply unacceptable."

"I've not been moping, you arse!" Harry shouted back.

Severus might have said something about being addressed so casually by a student, but it had been a long while since he and Harry's relationship had been so simple. In fact, after their last explosive interaction prior to Harry's capture which had subsequently destroyed their easy camaraderie, it was good to hear Harry being so casual with him again – even if he was behaving as a child.

"I will ask you once more, and then I will simply hex my way in. Open this door at once!" Severus demanded. By this time, both Pip and Tonks, who had been staying as both a guard and chaperone, had come to see what the noise was about.

"Piss off!" was Harry's retort.

"Very well, Potter," Severus said, and drew his wand. He could sense no spells on the bedroom, and that did worry him, because it meant that Harry was still too weak to erect any protective barriers. Still, it made Severus' task easier. "Alohamora," he intoned, and he heard the lock click, and then there was a thud against the door. Frowning, Severus turned the handle and pushed the door. It did not budge. He shoved with his shoulder and he heard a muffled 'oomph' and the small gap he'd managed to make between the door and the frame was closed and the door slammed shut.

Huffing once more, Severus rolled his sleeves and then once again turned the handle. This time, Severus' shoulder proved stronger than Harry's bare foot. Had Harry been slightly less debilitated, he might have put up more of a fight. As it was, Severus stalked into the room and shoved Harry gently onto the bed.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?" Harry was shouting. "This is my home! You can't just shove me about in my own home! What are those?" he continued to shout as Severus yanked his sleeve up over one elbow and pulled out a black ribbon. "What the bloody hell are you doing you great git! Get off me!" Harry kicked and struggled, but he was weak and no match for Severus. The potions master managed to wind the ribbon-wards in the appropriate formation, leaving the fingers free and toes free, as well as the heel of the foot, but covering the palm of the hand and arch of the foot.

Wards in place, Severus proceeded to verbally abuse Harry into his coat, harassed him out of his flat, and pushed and prodded and chivvied and distracted him until they were walking through a park where Severus launched into a monologue on his favourite topic – potions.

"Oh, come on!" Harry snapped after they had been walking aimlessly for well over an hour. "This is ridiculous!"

"Thank Merlin!" Severus proclaimed, throwing up his hands and collapsing onto a nearby park bench. "Even I, with my considerable knowledge of the subject, cannot prattle on about potions indefinitely!" Severus said. Harry stood on the path, frowning at his companion, hands in his pockets and hair hanging in his face. "Feel better?" Severus asked conversationally.

Harry looked away from the other man, glancing at the gravel he was standing on, the barren trees, the streetlamp, the sky, until he could no longer ignore the other man's presence and turned back. "Isn't it dreary, always being right?"

"Not at all," Severus answered. Harry, feeling oddly gracious, stepped off the path and settled himself beside Severus on the park bench.

They sat in silence for a moment before Severus once again, began to speak. "The aurors, and indeed the Order as well, have had no luck in finding your captor." His eyes turned sharply to Harry when the boy let out a sigh that sounded just the slightest bit relieved. "They will continue to have absolutely no luck finding him, unless you stop secretly wishing him luck and begin lending your help."

Harry's head was turned away, but Severus stared at him for a moment before he continued. "I suppose it might interest you to know that the Order found some interesting documentation in your Captor's rooms in the house we found you in." Harry refused to say a word, but Severus refused to be deterred. "It seems that you wished to make a change in your will – had you died, your sizeable fortune would have been distributed among the ranks of remain Death Eaters. As well, we found the paperwork involved in notifying the Ministry of your having turned Dark." He paused, mostly for effect because Harry was still avoiding his eyes. "The Ministry, I'm sure you recall, was present upon our retrieval of you and would have had more than enough proof to support this claim. They would have seen the effects of the spell."

Harry dropped his gaze back to the gravel. "I hated that," he said, his voice soft and thick with emotion. "Having you cast … I hated it."

"You hated me," Severus offered.

"I suppose I did," Harry agreed. He turned to meet the dark onyx gaze.

"I cannot force you to do something you do not wish to, nor would I," Severus said.

"I seem to recall that I didn't much feel like you coming into my bedroom. Or getting dressed. Or leaving my flat. Or coming for a walk at all."

"Yes, but that was entirely different, this was for your own good. You feel better; you've already admitted it. You're hungry too, no doubt," Severus said, just the slightest bit defensively and with a hint of smugness.

"Yes," Harry answered in a huff. "Not for huge amounts or anything –"

"But for flavour?" Severus asked. When he received an affirmative nod, Severus rose from the bench and gestured for Harry to follow him. "As it happens, we are quite close to a reasonably good restaurant."

……………………..

It had just been getting dark when they had reached the restaurant, and by the time they had finished with their meal it was quite late and the night was a cool one. Harry stepped out onto the busy street and then stepped backward sharply, bumping into Severus who was exiting the restaurant after him. "Sorry," he said, and looked darkly at the bustling streets.

As they walked down the sidewalk Severus kept an eye on the younger wizard, noting how Harry flinched if someone passed too closely to him, how he looked suspiciously and with fear at the dark alleys they were passing – how he flinched at sharp noises. Severus picked up the pace of their walk, keeping an eye out for a place where they might apparate, but any place suitable seemed to be down a dark alley, and judging by Harry's reactions, there was no way the boy would be comfortable walking down there.

It happened abruptly. One moment Severus was walking, his hand hovering at the small of Harry's back, guiding him through the crowds, and searching for a quiet place where they could apparate. The next Harry had stopped walking, his hands drawn to his face to shield it and was shaking and clearly in the grip of a panic attack. Severus held the shaking body close, petting the dark hair and scanning their surroundings to spot the cause.

A woman was walking towards them in an ankle-length black coat, the hood of which she had pulled over her head to keep out the chill breeze – added to the bustle and jostle of people, the darkness, and the noise of the cars around them, it had undoubtedly been too much for Harry, who had not even left his bedroom since he had been taken captive.

Pressing the boy closer and shifting his arms to block his gaze, should he manage to open his eyes, Severus manoeuvred them from the sidewalk and into one of the alleys he had been eyeing. Not even sparing a thought, Severus removed his wand and apparated them to Hogwarts.

……………………….

Severus finished chopping the asphodel root and added the cloverleaf to the simmering cauldron. A soft sigh caused him to turn his attention from stirring his potion to look at the couch where Harry lay, tucked under Severus' cloak and fast asleep.

The walk to the castle had given the boy time to calm down, and even though Severus had told the young wizard that he could rest if he wished, Harry insisted that he wasn't tired, that he simply wanted to sit by a warm fire and have some company. Severus had watched the boy fall asleep soon after settling onto the couch, and had draped his cloak over him not long after he had added the newt-tongue to the elixir he was brewing – it had been the first opportunity to leave his potion for any length of time.

Turning back to his work, Severus turned down the flame under the cauldron, removed and cleaned the stir-stick, covered the cauldron. Cleaning his hands with a cloth he had set aside for that purpose, he moved over to the couch where he carefully hefted Harry's sleeping weight and carried him out of the lab and down the short hallway where he settled the slim form under the warm blankets Severus' own bed. Gathering his nigh clothes, Severus paused briefly by the door to look back at Harry's peaceful features before he spelled the light down and closed the door.

---------------------------

End Chapter Three:

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